Quests and Campfires
by Blessed Lunatic
Summary: It's a watcher's job to be there for his slayer.  Buffy and Giles during "Intervention."


**Title: **Quests and Campfires

**Rating:** PG

**Pairings:** None. Sorry, B/G shippers, this is just some very general non-romantic Watcher/Slayer bonding shmoopiness. No tent smoochies in sight.

**Spoilers:** Season 5 episode _Intervention_, since it takes place during that episode, and...let's just say everything that happens up to and including _Intervention_, just to be safe.

**Author's Note:** It's never mentioned if Buffy and Giles spent the night in the desert during the vision quest. I didn't even think about it the first time I saw the episode, and it wasn't until later in the series when Giles takes the potentials camping for their vision quest that I thought, "hey, does that mean he and Buffy camped out as well? I wonder what that was like? What a perfect opportunity for them to actually, you know, talk." And this fic was born. I went back and looked at Intervention, and Giles does say the trip could take two days, and it's clearly night while they're in the desert, and it's clearly day when Buffy gets back. So even though Buffy jokes about there being no supplies, my belief is that they camped. And even if I'm wrong and I missed some evidence to the contrary, well, consider this a "what if?" then.

I'm really not sure how I feel about this story. I'm not entirely in love with it, and after reading it and rereading it, I'm not entirely sure if it even makes sense at times, or if the characterizations are even remotely accurate in places. I don't actually consider myself much of a writer, but I seem to be doing a lot of it lately. As often happens when I dabble in fan fiction, plot occurs very little and takes the back burner to horribly long melodramatic inner thought monologues that I seem to think the characters need. I guess I just like to analyze their feelings by making them think about them. A lot. *dramatic arm to the forehead* I apologize, dear readers! Woe is me and my writing skills! "So," you're saying, "Why are you sharing it, then? And why are you telling me what I'm saying? And do you actually think you're being funny right now?" All excellent questions, and shut up. But I suppose I can't stand the thought of this just sitting stagnant on my computer with nobody ever seeing it, until my husband happens across it one day and then gives me odd looks and begins to wonder exactly how big a nerd he married. Even if it gets no readers, no reviews, and anyone who does read it hates it with a fiery passion, at least I'll know that it exists somewhere in the interwebs for people to mock. And also I'm working on another fic that I like much better, and this one keeps peeking over my shoulder and going "hey, I exist, are you going to finish me?" So yes, I'm declaring it finished, possible warts and all. The more I look at it the more I mess with it, and the worse it gets. I need to step away. And now I'm going to shut up before I completely bias your opinion of it before you even read it.

**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Joss Whedon. The lack of writing skills belongs to me. Anthony Head's stupid wonderful face and all its expressions that make me want to describe every nuance in great detail belongs to him. Lucky man.

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><p><em>Finally.<em>

Giles let out a sigh of relief as he saw Buffy emerge from the desert. She'd been gone an awfully long time, and he'd begun to worry. After catching sight of her troubled expression, however, he thought that perhaps he'd better not let go of that worry too soon.

"You're back." he stated as if it wasn't completely obvious.

She nodded, and wordlessly moved to slump against the car next to him, her haunted and puzzled expression glaring into the desert. He offered her his thermos of tea, and she accepted it without looking at him. She downed a few mouthfuls of the warm milky liquid and silently handed it back. That was Buffy - no matter how often he furrowed his brow in disapproval, she still insisted upon gulping her tea instead of sipping it properly. He supposed it was an accurate metaphor to everything else in her life. She believed in doing things when they needed done and not beating around the bush - even if it meant foolishly rushing into a situation without caution. She couldn't stand to be idle, had decided that if patience was a virtue, she would not be virtuous. Buffy didn't take the scenic route, she just wanted to reach the destination as quickly as possible. She didn't sip, she gulped. With the strange, perilous, and often short life of a slayer, he supposed he couldn't fault her for it. He furrowed his brow at her though, regardless. Some things were just expected of him.

Ever the watcher, he watched her as she strived to work something out in her head. He was quite sure she was unaware of it, but when she was thinking hard about something her emotions were displayed on her face even if she remained silent. He could tell the exact moment when she figured out what she was working on, or, as in the current situation, when she decided to leave it be and revisit the thought at a later point. Her expression cleared somewhat, and she turned to him. "What time is it?"

Well, that wasn't the first question he thought she'd ask. "Um..." he fumbled in an attempt to see his watch without managing to dump his tea all over himself. She smiled and took the thermos from him a split second before he did just that. "It's...it's a little after eleven."

"That late?" She seemed genuinely surprised. "I didn't realize I was out there that long."

"There...there has been evidence to suggest that in these...vision quests...time is often perceived differently to the...the...questor." He sighed. "But yes, you were gone for a long time."

She looked at him, met his eyes, and realized, not for the first time, that he worried about her. She smiled softly. "Thanks for watching for me, Watcher-man."

He smiled back, then averted his eyes and ducked his head shyly. "Well, it's...it's not as if I had anywhere else to be." Looking back up at her, he quietly asked what he had spent the better part of the evening wondering about. "How did the quest go?"

She frowned. "Visionly and cryptically. I...really don't want to talk about it right now, Giles, please? Later, I promise, when I'm ready."

He nodded in understanding, and the comfortable silence settled over them again, the subject dropped for the time being.

A few minutes passed before she leaned closer to him and nudged his arm with her elbow. "So, are we driving straight back, or camping out?"

He had discussed with her earlier that the vision quest might take some time, maybe even two days, and had accordingly packed supplies for spending the night in the desert. He'd hoped they wouldn't have to, but in spite of the caffeine in his system, the very thought of driving back to Sunnydale at this hour made him tired.

"That depends on what you want to do. To be honest though, Buffy, I'm exhausted, and I doubt I'm in any condition to drive for very long..." he paused as a huge yawn escaped her, and he smiled softly, "...and it doesn't appear that you are, either." Not, of course, that he had any intention of letting her get behind the wheel of his car.

"Huh?" she responded, before his words caught up to her. "Oh. No, I'm wiped. Who knew questing could take so much out of a girl? Camping it is then." She looked around and wrinkled her nose at the lack of apparent campsite. "Uh, Giles, you did bring supplies other than sticks and a gourd, right?"

He waved his arm toward the small fire that was rapidly dying out. "Campfire." He said it like a lawyer on TV. _Exhibit A: Campfire._

"No, seriously," her eyebrows narrowed in worry, "food? Water? _Someplace to sleep?_"

"What's wrong with the ground? It worked quite well for the early pioneers of this state. It's a calm night, and we have the fire for warmth."

At her horrified expression, he gave a half smile and a slight roll of his eyes. "Relax, Buffy. There's food and a tent in the car. I just didn't see the point in getting it all set up if you ended up wanting to drive home tonight."

She took in his expression, furrowed her brow, and then widened her eyes in shock and understanding. "You were _messing_ with me?"

He shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried to hide a smile.

"That's low, Giles."

He just grinned, wickedly.

"Oh, stop looking so pleased with yourself. I'm getting something to eat." She moved toward the back of the car, intending to scrounge up some food. Giles stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. She turned to him, eyes questioning.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking...of course you must be hungry. I, um, ate earlier..." his eyes were soft and apologetic. "Go on, go sit by the fire and let me fix you something." He gently pushed her toward the fire and then turned to get some supplies out of the trunk.

"Oh...Buffy?"

She turned just in time to catch the bottle of water he'd tossed her way.

"Geez, Giles...some warning?"

"Just testing your reflexes," he said with a grin that told her she'd passed. "Drink that, but not too fast. I don't imagine you've had anything else all day."

She realized she hadn't, except for the few swigs of his tea a few minutes ago, and with that realization came a sudden and intense thirst - her mouth so dry she had no idea how she hadn't noticed. With a nod of thanks toward Giles, she opened the bottle, took a few small gulps, and continued back toward the fire.

Buffy found the dead trunk of what had once been one of the wizened trees that sporadically grew in the desert set up in front of the fire as a makeshift bench. The smooth wood was dry and warm from the flames that had been dancing so close to it, but now the fire was waning and Buffy found that she wanted its warmth on the cold desert night. She spied a stick propped up at the end of the log, and, assuming this was Giles' "fire poking stick," picked it up and proceeded to do just that. Orange sparks danced around and flew upward as the sticks popped and hissed and the flames leapt back to life. _If only it were that easy, _she thought. If only someone could poke her with a stick and she'd spark back to life completely rejuvenated. _Oh God, Buffy, now you're identifying with a campfire._

Giles walked over and set some supplies down in front of the fire, breaking her thoughts. He bent down and added a few more sticks to the flames as she continued to poke at it, mixing the new wood with the old. He'd set up some kind of portable metal grate over the fire for cooking on, and Buffy couldn't help but smile when she saw him place an old camping kettle on the grate. Where there was Giles, there would be tea.

As he busied himself with whatever he was cooking, Buffy's thoughts and gaze drifted. She stared into the vastness of the desert, toward the horizon line where sand met sky, and thought about how close it looked even though it was miles away. Miles away and unobtainable. You couldn't catch up to a horizon, it just got farther away as you moved. It was how she felt about everything in her life. She'd never have a normal life, never have a peaceful existence without some world-ending crisis looming. The vamps and demons were bad enough, but it seemed she couldn't even go a year without some even bigger bad on an ego trip wanting to take over the planet. She'd never reach the end. It was_ tiring_.

She tilted her head back and looked up at the night sky. When she was younger, growing up in LA, she would have been delighted by the desert sky at night - so many stars that were completely blocked out by the smog and the lights of the city shone brightly here. Now, she stared at the sky and just saw stars. There were no emotions involved at all. What was wrong with her? She felt she had lost all ability to feel love, she could only focus on pain, loss, and hate.

As absorbed in her thoughts as she was, she didn't notice Giles had finished cooking until he softly called her name and waved a paper plate of food in front of her.

"Oh...thanks." She took the plate and he settled himself down on the other side of the log, thermos in hand and obviously refilled with tea. Buffy hadn't even heard the kettle whistle. As she contemplated whether or not old camping kettles even did whistle, she glanced down at her plate. And stared.

"Giles?"

"Hmm?"

"What is this?"

"Beans on toast." He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"I can see that." She stared. It was, indeed, what looked like baked beans dumped on top of two pieces of toast. "Why?"

He sighed, slightly exasperated. "Because it's comfort food. Because beans have protein and bread is full of carbohydrates and energy, and it's good for you right now, since you haven't eaten anything all day. And," he admitted, "because it was easy to pack and prepare over a campfire."

"This is comfort food? Comforting to who?" She eyed it warily, and then her expression cleared in understanding as she looked at him. "Is this a British thing?"

"Yes." He sighed again and ran a hand over his face. "It's perfectly safe, Buffy."

He watched as she sniffed it curiously, then took a small bite.

"It's...weird, but not bad," she said as she rolled the taste around in her mouth. The bite of food hit her senses and caused her stomach to twist in reminder that she hadn't eaten all day. She hadn't realized she was even that hungry. Her appetitie hadn't been very strong lately.

Less than a minute later both pieces of toast had disappeared. Buffy leaned over and tossed her plate into the fire, then sat back and finished off the bottle of water.

"Better?" Giles asked with a small smile.

"Yeah. Thanks."

He nodded toward the kettle. "Do you want some tea?"

"No, " she laughed. "I know how soothing you think it is, but if I drink that now I'll be waking up to visit the bathroom bush way too many times tonight." She shifted a bit and looked around. "Speaking of...I think I'll go scope out a good spot right now. I'll, uh, be right back," she said, standing.

"Oh." Giles realized what she meant. "Uh, here, take this." He handed her a flashlight that had been sitting next to his cooking supplies. "And don't go too far. There could be a few dangerous creatures lurking about out there."

"Yeah, yeah, avoid the nasty crawly critters, I know." She started to walk away.

"Oh. Buffy?" he called after her. She turned to see what he wanted. "There's, um...paper, uh, in the back." He pointed toward the car and its open trunk.

She walked over to the car, and sure enough, found a roll of toilet paper tucked into a bag next to two toothbrushes and a small tube of toothpaste. He really did think of everything.

She picked up the roll and grinned. "Wow, Giles. Chalk one up for the guy who actually remembers that some things aren't as simple for us girls."

Giles cleared his throat. "Yes, well...I'm...I'm glad you, uh...approve." Buffy couldn't tell in the dim firelight, but she could imagine his face was a nice shade of pink. He flustered so easily sometimes.

She returned a few minutes later to find Giles had cleared away the cooking things and was in the process of lugging a tent out of the trunk. Or attempting it, anyway. She thought she could hear a few muffled curses as he grumbled at the bulky bundle of fabric.

"Need a hand?" She asked as she easily took the tent from him, pulled it from the trunk, and set it down on the ground. She looked up to find him looking at her in that way he always did when she displayed her enhanced slayer strength - a little bit of pride, a little bit of awe, and just a tiny little bit of jealousy. Ah, the male ego. Even Giles had one.

"Um, yes...thank you. I got it in there easily enough, but the blasted thing didn't want to come back out."

_Excuses, excuses_. Buffy smiled and lifted the tent up onto her shoulder. "Where do you want it?"

"Over there," he pointed, "there's a nice spot on the other side of the fire."

She complied, and within a few minutes they had the tent set up and ready.

"Okay," she said, brushing her hands together to remove the sand. "Let's get the other one."

Giles blinked at her in puzzlement. "The other what?"

"The other tent?" She stared at his expression and frowned. "Giles? Are you messing with me again?"

"Um, no. Buffy..."

_"You only brought one tent?"_ she practically shouted at him. Giles winced.

"Buffy, it's...it's a big tent. It's supposed to sleep four. I...I think we'll manage just fine." He walked back toward the car to get the bundle of blankets he'd brought. She followed him, not backing down.

"It's not an issue of _space_, it's an issue of privacy!"

"We'll hang a blanket down the middle," he remarked dryly as he teasingly draped said blanket over her head, covering her, and started back toward the tent.

She yanked the blanket away from her face with a huff and marched after him, glaring. "I can't believe you're not being all Mr. Proper about this."

He dropped the blankets inside the tent, gently took the one she'd pulled off of her head from her tightly clenched hands to add it to the pile, and turned to look at her, his expression bemused.

"Honestly, Buffy, what's the problem? U-unless you managed to fit pajamas in your pockets, my guess is you'll be sleeping in what you're wearing right now, as will I. Lord knows I'm no stranger to modesty, but this...I...I don't understand how sleeping in this tent together will be any different from standing here together right now, except that we'll be horizontal and unconscious. And on opposite sides of the tent. It's camping, not sharing a hotel room."

He had a point. "Fine," she mumbled with a resigned sigh, "You're right, sorry, I'm just tired. And I suppose you're probably not going to try to seduce me or anything."

That startled him, and he turned to stare at her. The slightly horrified look on his face that she would even suggest such a thing made her take pity on him. "Don't pop a blood vessel, Giles," she said as she patted his arm. "I'm just kidding. Because A: ew, and B: I trust you."

"I should hope so!" he sputtered. "Buffy, I...you're...I wouldn't..."

"I know. Joke, remember? SO not something I want to think about. Geez, Giles, you're like my dad!"

They both froze. The look he was giving her now was something she couldn't describe. His mouth was still partially open in surprise at her earlier words, but his eyes - his eyes were wide and shining in the dim light with that look that she'd only seen a few times in the past. A multitude of emotions seemed to pass through them as he continued to stare at her - affection, hope, confusion, wariness...

She looked away. Their relationship had never been something she could easily define, but she wasn't ready or willing to acknowledge any possible feelings that may or may not have been behind the words that had slipped from her mouth. She hadn't really meant...not really. "I...I mean, you're old enough to be my dad..."

He cleared his throat awkwardly and looked down at the sand as he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "Yes. Right."

Wordlessly, Buffy made her way back to the fire and sat, idly picking up the stick and coaxing some more life out of the flames as she stared into the orange light. The feelings of abandonment and disappointment being stirred within her leaped to life as well as she thought of her father.

Giles watched her for a moment, and then silently moved to join her on the log, keeping some space between them.

"Do you think he'll ever call?" Buffy spoke in a small voice, the child-like tone she still sometimes fell back on when emotions ran high.

Giles knew exactly who she was referring to, but asked anyway. "Your father?"

She nodded. "I don't understand how he can just ignore me and Dawn. Mom _died_, and he didn't even care enough to come to the funeral."

"People...people deal with grief in different ways, Buffy, maybe your father just isn't...isn't ready to accept..."

She cut him off with a glare. "That's bull, Giles, and you know it." She looked back at the fire. "They hadn't been in love in a long time. I used to hope they'd get back together, but I know they would've been miserable. They didn't really even try to stay friends, there was just nothing left at all, nothing except me and Dawn. They were civil to each other, tried to be friendly, but every time they talked for more than a few minutes it turned bitter. Mom deserved better." She sniffed softly. "There's no grief on his part. My father is just a selfish bastard."

Giles was not inclined to disagree, though it wasn't his place to say so, but he was still a little shocked at the violence in her tone. She'd never before spoken of her father quite so harshly.

"Part of me hopes he does call, just so I can give him a piece of my mind," Buffy said through gritted teeth. "But then another part of me secretly hopes he won't, because if he does I'll likely just break down crying and forgive him for everything as soon as he gives me some pathetic excuse." She sniffed again. "I hate that he does that to me. I hate that I still love him even though he keeps letting me down."

Giles smiled, knowingly. "He's family, Buffy. He might never cease to disappoint you, but you'll still love him. For all his faults, he's...he's still your father." He joined her in staring into the fire, thinking about the sometimes-rocky relationship he'd had with his own father, and how surprising the pain he'd felt had been when he got the call that his father had died unexpectedly from a sudden heart attack. All the regrets of past words - spoken and unspoken - had haunted him for weeks after the funeral.

Buffy turned and looked at him thoughtfully, wondering at the contemplative expression on his face as he looked into the flames. Sometimes she felt they had much more in common than either of them would ever admit to.

They sat in silence for a few moments, each lost in thought, until Giles noticed that Buffy was shaking.

"Buffy? Are you all right?"

She turned to find his gentle eyes full of concern, and nodded. "I'm just cold." She shivered again, and although Giles was fairly certain she wasn't only referring to the temperature, it _had_ gotten quite a bit chillier as the night went on.

"Do you want to go to bed?"

"No," she shook her head. "I don't think I can sleep yet, which makes no sense because I'm exhausted. But I kind of just want to sit here for a little bit longer, if...if that's all right?"

He nodded. A look passed between them, and a silent agreement was made that as long as she wanted to sit there, he'd be beside her. She wouldn't ask him to stay, and he wouldn't insist on staying if she told him to go, but both knew where he needed to be.

"Should I get you a blanket?" He nodded toward the tent.

She shook her head. "No, I don't want to drag a bunch of sand back into the tent..." her voice trailed off, and he noticed that her gaze was fixed on him, but that it had settled somewhere below his face. He looked down. His jacket.

"Oh no," he shook his head. "You're not getting my coat. Then _I'd_ freeze. I told you to dress warmly," he reminded her with a glare.

"Wow, Giles, way to be a Goofus and not a Gallant."

"What?" His forehead crinkled in puzzlement, the reference lost on him.

"Never mind." She shook again as another shiver went through her. "I did dress warmly - jacket, see?" She spread her arms slightly to indicate her long coat. "It's just colder than I thought it would be." Her arms hugged her body tightly in an attempt to keep out the chill.

He took pity on her, and with only a moment's hesitation extended his arm toward her and twitched his curled fingers toward himself, along with a gentle smile and a quick sideways nod of silent invitation.

Buffy looked at him for a brief moment, uncertain, and then scootched herself to his side and allowed him to wrap his arm around her and pull her close to his warmth. His other arm came around to join in as he rather vigorously rubbed her arm and side, hoping to warm her.

"Better?" He asked as the rubbing motion slowed to a gentle caress.

"Yeah." She smiled and tucked herself closer into his side, resting her head against his shoulder as he continued to hold her. It was nice, she decided, being held by Giles. Kind of wiggy, but nice. Their relationship was not a physically affectionate one, and the few hugs they'd shared in the past, although comforting, had come with a large side order of awkward. Buffy herself was not always much of a hugger, and Giles even less so. She knew he cared about her, but he tended to display his emotions with his face more than with his arms. Where Willow and Xander were always ready with bear hugs of celebration after they'd defeated yet another baddie, Giles would stand silently, his face beaming with pride, and that would tell her everything she needed to know.

The hugs had come more frequently though, since her mother's death, and the awkward level had dropped somewhat in light of the high emotions running rampant. Somehow Giles had known that she'd needed his physical support as well as emotional, if only to assure her that he was real and tangible - someone to lean on literally as well as figuratively. He'd been a welcome comfort during a difficult time, and she'd be forever grateful for all the arrangements he'd handled on her behalf.

Buffy inhaled deeply and sighed in contentment. Giles always smelled so good. Her father had always smelled of cheap cologne and a faint whiff of cigarette smoke from a habit he'd never quite been able to kick despite Buffy's insistence, but she'd found it comforting simply because it was her daddy. But now the smell of cigarettes only made her feel sick, and she hated that thoughts of her father no longer brought her comfort. Giles though...Giles was not her father, and she didn't want him to be, but that didn't mean she didn't take comfort in his solid reliability and in everything about being near him, including his scent. It was a mixture of contradictions, much like the man himself. There were the musky, masculine scents of whatever aftershave and deodorant he used (because Buffy was fairly sure that Giles didn't bother with frivolous things like cologne, at least, not on a daily basis), mixed with the softer, flowery undertones of the fabric softener he used for his shirts, and just the slightest tangy hint of tea. Buffy thought it was probably horribly stereotypical of her to say that Giles smelled like tea, but there was no mistaking it. The scent was strong in his apartment, had been strong in his office in the old library, and permeated his clothing and breath. Giles and tea were rarely far apart, and Buffy had come to find the scent as soothing as he found the taste. Enveloped in the warm comfort of his arms, with the sound of his steady heartbeat under her ear, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax, completely unaware that she was drifting off.

Giles looked down at the girl, no, _young woman_, he corrected himself, in his arms and smiled. Even though she was an adult now, there was still so much of the teenager he'd first met within her, especially now that she was left without a mother and with an absentee father. It was a lot for someone so young to handle, especially someone who was also responsible for the fate of the world on a regular basis. Giles mentally cursed Hank Summers, not for the first time, for being too thick to see what a wonderful thing he'd had. A lovely wife, two loving, if not challenging, daughters...it was more than any man could ask for, and he'd thrown it away. And now, when his daughters needed him the most, he ignored them more than ever. How could he live with himself?

He thought again of Joyce, the unexpected tragedy of her death and how it had unsettled him. He'd mourned her by putting on the music she'd enjoyed during their relived youth, and by getting good and drunk - toasting the vibrantly youthful woman she'd been on the night they'd shared the cursed band candy...among other things. Band candy incident aside, he'd felt he and Joyce had been moving closer to something. Maybe not romance, though Giles admitted to himself that the thought hadn't shocked him as much as it might have a couple of years earlier, but perhaps a strong friendship. They'd learned to get along in spite of their rocky start and their embarrassing actions when under the chocolate's influence, and had forged a sort of alliance when it came to matters involving Buffy. Sometimes, he reflected, it had been nice to have another adult to talk to, especially since she was Buffy's mother. They'd shared stories, talked and laughed for hours. Giles learned what Buffy had been like as a young girl, and Joyce learned about some of her less colorful exploits in vampire slaying. Giles knew what to say and what not to say, knew that some conversations he'd had with Buffy were in confidence, but it had been refreshing to openly, if not often, discuss his pride, his fears, and even his affection toward Buffy with someone who understood and shared the same feelings. Now that was all over, and he knew he'd miss Joyce terribly.

Giles was pulled from his musings when he felt Buffy turn more fully into his side and lift her hand to rest against his chest, next to where her head lay. He'd both heard and felt her breathing even out some time ago, and knew she was asleep, but this simple action...the very fact that she felt comfortable enough - safe enough - to not only fall asleep in his arms but to settle herself more comfortably there...it made his heart swell and melt in equal measure.

He cared too much for her. He knew it. There was always a bond between watchers and their slayers, and it was always different depending on the individuals, but he suspected that what he felt for Buffy went beyond that. Quentin Travers had confirmed as much when he'd fired him, and the bond had only grown since then. Giles had no children of his own, he had no means to compare if the affection he felt for his slayer was similar to a father's affection. He knew their relationship was not quite that of a father and daughter. There was a friendship above all else, and a mutual respect, even if he felt she didn't always show it toward him. He knew she shared things with him - with their entire group - that she wouldn't want her parents to know. She saw him as an authority figure, yes, but not one whose authority she feared. Resented, perhaps, but she'd known, as he did, that the authority he held was meant to be more guidance than discipline. He never punished, that wasn't his role, but he was there to advise her on her actions, based on his greater number of years of experience as both a watcher and as a human being.

He also knew there would come a day when her reliance on him would stunt her ability to grow up, especially now that she turned to him as the only adult in her life. The thought had been nagging him for some time, ominously growing in the back of his mind. He'd tried, when she started college, to back away, to get her to see that she needed to rely on her own intelligence and skills. Physically, she was so strong, but she often lacked the self-confidence needed to deal with everyday life. But he hadn't been able to push her away. One look at the devestation in her face as he dismissed her caused him to go running back to her side with an apology, unable to stay away. If something were to happen to her that he might've in some way been able to prevent...that thought made him grimace. He'd never get over it. And then, he'd tried again. He thought she'd reached the point where she no longer needed him. She'd largely ignored him for months, and so he had assumed that he didn't have to worry about her relying on him too much. He was all set to go back home, but then she came to him, telling him she needed him to be her watcher again, and he was done for. One look, and all his plans were cancelled. He was powerless to say no to her when she gazed at him with those large, expressive eyes.

And now...well, watcher again or no, he was beginning to get that unsettling feeling again, that doubt that she was living up to her full potential. He was not about to deny her whatever help and comfort he could give her while she was left dealing with her mother's death, but still...he was not her father, much as he cared for her, and even if he were he knew he couldn't allow her to need him too much. Baby birds had to leave their nest in order to learn to fly on their own, after all.

But as he held her, listening to her soft breathing and marveling at how much she trusted him, he pushed the negative thoughts away. He'd deal with them later. Right now his slayer needed him, and he would be there for her.

Allowing himself an even greater breech of reserve, he bent his head and placed a soft kiss into her hair, knowing she'd never know he'd done it. He couldn't imagine that he could care for her more than he already did even if she were his own flesh and blood, but somehow he found it so difficult to express those emotions while she was awake. He'd been taken aback earlier at her rather abrupt and bold declaration of love. It was simply not their way. He didn't know why, exactly, that was, but emotional displays had always made him uncomfortable, and he suspected they were difficult for her as well, especially with him. Their relationship was not nearly as simple as her relationships with her other friends. Resting his cheek against her head, he listened to the sounds of her breathing, the crackling fire, and the chirp of nighttime insects, and slowly closed his eyes.

* * *

><p>Giles opened his eyes abruptly, unsure of what had awoken him, and realized that he must've dozed off. Judging from the still softly glowing fire, they'd only been asleep for a few minutes. A quick turn of his wrist and a glance over Buffy's head at his watch confirmed his thoughts.<p>

He was loathe to wake her, but he knew they'd wake up sore and grumpy if they slept sitting as they were. He briefly considered carrying her to the tent, but decided that would mean some awkward explanation in the morning if she wondered how she got there. He'd carried her before when she was wounded or ill, but declaring that he simply didn't want to wake her would be awkward at best.

Gently, he nudged her with his shoulder and whispered her name.

"Hmm?" She groggily answered, but made no effort to move.

"You fell asleep," He whispered with a smile. "We'd, uh, best get to the tent. I didn't think you wanted to spend the night outside."

"Huh?" She sat up, still groggy, and only then seemed to realize that she'd fallen asleep using her watcher as a pillow. "Oh," She replied, slightly embarrassed. "Right. Tent. For sleeping."

He chuckled and helped her stand. "Go on, then. I'll, uh, join you in a minute."

"M'kay," She mumbled, then paused. "Should probably brush my teeth, shouldn't I?" Her speech was slightly slurred and she looked as though she was about to fall asleep standing up. He smiled at her bleary-eyed expression. She looked so much younger in her sleepy, rumpled state.

"I think you're about to drop, and I doubt that your teeth will all fall out if you skip it for one night." He nudged her in the direction of the tent. "Go. Sleep."

Needing no further encouragement, she stumbled to the tent and crawled inside, remembering to kick her shoes off before she brought half the desert in with her.

Giles watched her, smiling fondly, until he was sure she was inside. He kicked some sand onto the fire, making sure it was out completely, then headed to the trunk of his car to get his toothbrush and a bottle of water. He'd given Buffy a free pass for the night, but he wasn't about to go to sleep with his mouth tasting like old tea. Glancing at the tent to ensure all was quiet, he took the flashlight and walked into the desert to prepare for bed and to make his own visit to the "bathroom bush," as Buffy had so designated it.

A few minutes later he crawled into the tent to find Buffy fast asleep, cocooned in a pile of blankets with just her face exposed. He smiled at the sight, but his smile soon turned to a frown as he realized she had confiscated all of the blankets to make her little cocoon, leaving none for him. His desire to not freeze to death won out over his desire to not disturb her, and with a little bit of nudging he managed to extract a blanket from the pile. Satisfied that everything was in order, he shifted to his side of the tent, curled up with the blanket, and, exhausted by the day's events, was soon fast asleep.

_The swirling flames of the fire danced around her wildly, flickering higher and higher and seeming to come from everywhere. And joining it in its wild dance was the primitive painted body of the first slayer, leaping about with no rhyme or reason. "Death is your gift," the voice hissed. "Death is your gift!" The voice came from everywhere, surrounding her, whispering her name. "Buuuufftyyyyy!" The sinister sounding voice called to her. "Buffy. Buffy!" The voice changed pitch, became louder. It almost sounded like..._

"Giles?" Buffy whispered as her eyes slowly opened. She was momentarily confused, unsure of her surroundings, and then the shapes around her took form in the moonlight and memories of the vision quest came flooding back to her. Tent. Camping. Giles. Giles was...holding her. Rocking her gently. O...kay...that was strange.

"Oh, thank God you're awake." Giles breathed out a sigh of relief, his features betraying worry and concern.

"What happened?" Buffy blinked, becoming aware that her hands were clenching the front of Giles' jacket in a desperate grip, and she was certain she could feel a wetness on her cheeks. Tears? She gently unclenched her fingers and released him, wiping a hand across her face to confirm that she had been crying.

"You had a nightmare." Giles spoke, voice shaky. "You...you were...screaming." He loosened his grip on her, but made no move to remove himself from her side, his brow still furrowed in concern.

"Oh." She whispered, as the intensity of the dream came back to her memory. She was silent for a few moments, still getting her bearings.

"Death is your gift?" Giles quietly broke Buffy's silent contemplation. The sudden words startled her.

"What?" She jumped, remembering the words from her vision. How did he...?

"That's what you were, uh, screaming." His soft green eyes bore into hers, still full of concern for her, not wanting to push her, but also gently demanding an explanation.

"Oh." Buffy frowned. "That's what she told me. In my quest."

"Who?"

"The first slayer. Or something taking her form. I'm still not entirely clear on that, actually." Buffy crinkled her nose and narrowed her brow at the memory of the confusing exchange.

"What does it mean?" Giles asked, his own face registering confusion at the words.

"I don't know. I was hoping you might have an idea." She shrugged. "Dreadlock-chick redefines the word cryptic."

He frowned. "Well, without...without proper context, I suppose it could mean any number of things. I'll...I'll do some research when we get back, try to search for any reference to death being a gift, and...and cross reference where the two words might appear simultaneously..."

"Hey, book guy." Buffy cut him off. "Stop drooling. You can do your research, but I think maybe that this little cryptic revelation is supposed to be one of those things just meant for me. You know, one of those damn inconvenient 'you'll know what it means when the time is right' things. I just wondered if you _personally_ might have an idea."

"Oh." He frowned. "I suppose it's too much to ask that just once a mystical power could give a bloody straight answer." He sighed and looked at her, noticing how much she was trying to pretend the vision quest and the resulting nightmare were not affecting her. "Did it...she...say anything else? Something else to help you understand?"

Buffy shook her head. "No. She told me I'm not broken though. I can still love. Apparently I love too much. Or I have too much love to give. Or I feel too much. Or...something. She said love will lead me to my gift, and that death was my gift. I've been trying to figure it out, and I'm coming up blank. Love is going to kill me? In a gift-y way?"

Giles frowned again, processing her words. He thought he understood part of it. Buffy was worried that she was incapable of feeling, but it was because she felt so much the she was feeling a little lost. Slayers lives were usually short, a thought he didn't wish to dwell on, but that shortened life and heightened senses meant heightened everything. A greater awareness of feelings. Currently she'd been a little overwhelmed with negative feelings of hurt, pain, doubt, fear, what with everything she was facing - her mother's death, Glory, protecting Dawn - and perhaps it was causing her to lose sight of the positive emotions - her mind too jumbled to distinguish. Love could cause pain. With so much on her plate, the stress of the pain made her lose focus of the love.

"I do, you know." Buffy's voice interrupted his thoughts. It was the small, child-like tone again. Tired. Sad. A little uncertain.

"Do...what?" He asked, feeling that he'd somehow missed part of the conversation.

"Love you." She looked up at him with those large expressive eyes. Eyes full of all the trust and innocent sincerity of a child, but with the sadder edge of an adult who'd grown up too fast and had seen far too much to be innocent. Giles was speechless.

She looked away. "When I...said it earlier," she began tentatively, not really wanting to talk about it, but exhaustion had brought everything to the surface and had loosened her tongue, and she knew it was now or never. "You seemed...kind of wigged. I didn't mean to...startle you, I just...I thought you already knew." Her fingers fidgeted with the blanket in her hands. "Because I thought..." Her voice became small and unsteady, "back on my 18th birthday, when you...when the _Council_ drugged me for that circum...navigation thing..."

"Cruciamentum" Giles corrected automatically. Her own correction regarding the placement of blame for that event did not go unnoticed by him.

"Right. Well, I...I heard what Travers said to you...that you...love me. Like a father would. And...we never talked about it, but I...just always assumed it was true and the feeling was mutual. You know, I love you, you love me, we're a happy Watcher-Slayer family?" Her hands twisted the blanket, remembering his reaction to her words. When she spoke, her voice was barely more than a whisper. "Do you really think I shouldn't?"

He was startled for a moment, until he recalled what he'd said in reaction to her declaration and her worry that it felt strange. _I shouldn't wonder. _Oh. She'd thought he'd meant...oh. He sighed. "Buffy, I can think of at least several very compelling arguments as to why you shouldn't care for me, not the least of which is because of the hand I had in the very event you just brought up." As her head fell at his words, he smiled and continued. "But..it would...it would be my sincere hope that you wouldn't listen to any of them."

She looked up at him, seeing the smile on his face and in his eyes, and realized what he was trying to say.

"I didn't...I didn't mean to imply that you shouldn't..." He sighed. "I was just...trying to make light of it. You...did, uh, startle me...just a bit. I'm afraid I'm not...I'm not good w-with..."

"With the whole 'talking about emotions' thing?" She finished for him, with a slight smile.

"Um. Yes." He looked away, uncomfortable.

"I know." She smiled. "I'm not really either, usually, but...I just thought...with everything that's happened, and everything that might happen, and with how I've been feeling lately...I just thought I should start saying it. Trying it out, you know? I didn't think you'd freak. I guess I've never actually said the words before, have I?"

He shook his head. "Perhaps...that's why it felt strange?"

She frowned. "But it shouldn't. Just because I don't say it doesn't mean I don't feel it."

"Maybe...maybe it's because you feel so much...maybe with everything that's happened you've gotten a little overwhelmed?"

She nodded. "I think that's what numero uno slayer meant. Everything is swirling around in my head and I'm just...shutting down."

"No." He replied softly. "Not shutting down. I believe you're experiencing stress. Of...of a greater magnitude than even you are used to, and it's reaking havoc on your otherwise hightened emotional state. You're focusing on the negative emotions and losing sight of the positives, but they're still there."

"Maybe." She looked at him in earnest. "How do I deal?"

"I'm not completely sure," he admitted, but quickly continued at her crestfallen look. "But we...we can incorporate more breathing and relaxation exercises into your training. Perhaps meditation can help you...cope."

She nodded. "Okay. And...Giles?"

"Hmm?"

"This helps, too." She briefly lifted a hand to wave back and forth between them, indicating their closeness, in more ways than the physical sense. "You, always being here for me. I couldn't do this without you." Her eyes lifted to find his in the dark. "Thank you." She looked away again, slightly uncomfortable, and then slowly leaned forward to rest her head against his shoulder. It wasn't a hug, she wasn't asking for anything in return, it was simply one person taking strength from the physical presence of another.

"I also meant what I said that time Willow's spell went all kablooey and I thought I wanted to marry Spike." Her voice was muffled as she spoke half into his jacket. She figured while she was in sharing mode, she might as well continue. The memory was not a pleasant one for either of them, as the displeased groan he let out in reply rumbled against her ear and reminded her, causing her to smile. "If...if by some chance I ever get to have a normal life and settle down with a normal, living, breathing guy...I want you to give me away, if there's a wedding. I know we were all under a spell, but...that wasn't part of it. I meant that. You're...Giles, you're more my family than any of my family members, except for Dawn, and she's a mystical ball of energy. We might as well be as unconventional as possible."

"Oh, Buffy," he whispered softly, voice breaking slightly with affection. Her words touched him now just as much as they had then, if not more so since he knew for certain there was no magic behind them. Without hesitation he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her to him, once again striving to provide whatever comfort he could just by being there. Uncomfortable emotional displays be damned.

Several quiet moments later, he felt her begin to shake in his arms, and the quiet sniffling that accompanied the shudders confirmed his suspicions that she was crying. Finally, everything had caught up to her to the point that she couldn't hold it in anymore. She was breaking, giving in to the emotions. As uncomfortable as he was in this sort of position, he knew it was what was best for her. She needed the release, needed to let it all out, and if she needed a literal shoulder to cry on, he'd not deny her his. After all, hadn't he once sobbed in her arms on the dirty pavement in front of a building set ablaze by his own vengeful hand?

He said nothing, would not give empty reassurances, he simply held her. One hand soothingly moved up and down her back of its own accord, the touch as much for his own benefit as hers. He would not feel so useless right now if he could convince himself that his presence helped her at all.

Eventually her sobs subsided and she pulled back, softly sniffling. Noticing the damp spot her tears had made on his jacket, she absently wiped at it with her fingers. "Sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed.

"It's seen worse," he assured her as he shifted sideways to fish his handkerchief out of his pocket, then handed it to her.

Buffy wiped her eyes and blew her nose, then held the handkerchief awkwardly, unsure of what to do with it. Giles smiled. "Hang on to it for now. You can give it back later."

Buffy assumed "later" meant "when it's clean," so she balled it up and stuffed it into her jacket pocket.

"Do you feel better?" Giles asked softly.

She frowned, assessing, and wrinkled her nose. "Not really. Now I just feel gross from crying."

He gave her an understanding smile. "Give it a little time. You'll feel better in the morning."

She nodded. "I guess we should get back to sleep, huh?" A yawn escaped her unexpectedly, and she sighed. "I'm so tired, Giles."

"I know." He gave a sigh of his own, knowing that she was talking about so much more than physical exhaustion, knowing it all too well. "Try to get some sleep, Buffy." He left the "you'll need it" off the end of the sentence. She knew full well what she'd soon be facing, and didn't need reminders. He moved away from her so that she could lie back down, but before he left her side he pulled the blankets up and tucked them around her, giving one last little bit of comfort. With a quick squeeze of her shoulder he retreated to his side of the tent once again.

As he lay down, preparing to fall back to sleep, he realized there was still something else he needed to say. "Buffy?" He called softly to the lump of blankets, knowing she was facing away from him. The cowardly part of him half-hoped she was already asleep.

"Hmm?" She mumbled, clearly barely awake.

"I...I love you too, you know."

"I do." She smiled softly in the dark, knowing he couldn't see her. "But it's still nice to hear." Her mouth stretched into another yawn. "Night, Giles."

"Goodnight, Buffy."

* * *

><p>Buffy awoke to find herself alone in the tent, the soft light filtering through the mesh windows telling her it was morning. She groaned and stretched, not wanting to get up and face the day just yet. She had hoped that at some point her increased Slayer strength and energy would include an increased ability to jump out of bed in the morning awake and refreshed, but so far it hadn't happened.<p>

The memory of last night's events seemed a little fuzzy in the light of day. For a moment she wasn't sure if the memories were real or a dream, but then she felt the lump against her side of Giles' handkerchief in her jacket pocket. _Giles. _A lot had been said last night, a lot of emotions were high, and now that morning was here things felt...well, embarrassing. She couldn't believe she'd actually fallen asleep on him. Or cried in his arms. She'd spent more time locked in an embrace with her watcher in the last day than she had in the five years she'd known him. But those thoughts weren't negative. Giles hugs were special and rare, and she always enjoyed seeing the affectionate side of him. She wondered sometimes if there was a chapter in the Watcher's Handbook on Comforting Your Slayer, or if Giles just did that on his own. He was usually pretty good at it, when he managed to put aside his British reserve. He always seemed to know just what to say, or when to not say anything.

Buffy was jerked out of her half-awake musings when she heard the subject of her thoughts emit a loud yell, accompanied by the clang of metal on metal. She was instantly up, out of the tent, and poised for action, only to find Giles standing by a newly built fire, holding his hand and looking at her with a somewhat startled expression, clearly having not expected her to burst from the tent looking ready to fight.

As he realized what happened, the expression turned sheepish. "I, uh, burned myself on the kettle." He nodded toward the fire, where the kettle now lay on its side after he'd so abruptly dropped it. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

Buffy relaxed and shrugged. "You didn't. I was already awake, just not up yet. Sheesh, Giles, I should get a recording of you howling in pain to use as an alarm. You sure do know how to motivate a girl to get out of bed."

"Well, that sounds vaguely insulting, thank you." Buffy rolled her eyes at the implied innuendo and he glared. "And I did not 'howl in pain'." He glared harder at the look she gave him. "It was more of a very masculine yelp."

"I don't think that helps your case at all." She walked over to him and gently took his hand to inspect the burn. "It didn't blister. You'll live."

"Well I wasn't doubting that I would, but thank you for the reassurance." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze in silent thanks for her readiness to come to his rescue, even though it had been a false alarm. She smiled up at him and squeezed back - y_ou're welcome - _then dropped his hand so he could move to right the kettle and get what water remained inside back to boiling.

"So," he began, turning back to her. "Um, now that we've established that my death is not imminent, would you like some breakfast?"

Her stomach growled loudly at the mention of food, and she looked down at it in surprise.

"I'll take that as a yes then, shall I?" He quirked his eyebrows in amusement.

"I guess so. I didn't even realize I was that hungry. I haven't had much of an appetite lately. The only reason I inhaled that toast last night was because I hadn't eaten all day."

"That's a good sign." He assured her with a smile. "A returning appetite means that your body is dealing with the stress and can now focus on its very basic demands."

"Guess I do feel better in the morning, huh?" She smiled softly as she reminded him of his whispered words to her in the middle of the night, but her eyes were downcast in embarrassment as she remembered her emotional display.

"So it would appear." He replied as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Buffy." He spoke her name softly, urging her to look at him. She lifted her eyes to find his shining with affection and compassion. "Sometimes an emotional release is exactly what we need to help our bodies and minds deal with the stress that difficult trials place on us. There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I know all that, I do." She sighed. "But c'mon, Giles. This is you talking. You. Mr. Stiff Upper Lip Brit guy. You think you wouldn't be embarrassed if you'd spent all night crying to me?"

He opened his mouth to say something in his defense, but closed it again when nothing came to mind. "Um. Right." He looked a little embarrassed right now, even. She smiled.

"But thank you." She spoke softly, sincerely. "It's the thought that counts, right?" She didn't wait for an answer, the question was rhetorical anyway. "So, you said something about breakfast? It's not beans again, is it?"

Recognizing her subject-changing tactics, he willfully played along. "Actually beans are considered a part of a full proper English breakfast," he took in her wrinkled-nose look of mild disgust. "But, uh...I was thinking more along the lines of eggs and toast."

"You brought eggs?" She gave him a surprised look that bordered on amusement. "And here I thought you didn't have any food at all in your car. You've been holding out on me. Turns out you've got a whole smorgasboard."

"Hardly." He snorted at her teasing. "But I did bring a small cooler. Or did you think I'd been drinking tea without milk like some kind of barbarian?"

"That's my Giles." She smiled. "English to the core, even in the great outdoors."

"Yes, well, just because we're camping doesn't mean we have to be completely uncivilized."

"Of course not. Wouldn't dream of it." She grinned, enjoying their easy banter and the way it made her often serious watcher smile in amusement. "So...eggs?"

* * *

><p>After breakfast, they'd snuffed out the fire, folded up the tent, and packed everything back into the car. The drive back to Sunnydale passed mostly in comfortable silence - neither having much to say with so much on their minds. Halfway home Giles glanced over at Buffy and saw that she had dozed off. Neither one of them had had a very restful sleep the night before - he was glad she was able to catch a little more while she could.<p>

All too soon he pulled up in front of the Summers home and cut the engine. Buffy stirred, awakened by the sudden lack of movement. She sat up with a yawn, blinking to adjust her eyes to the bright mid-morning sunlight. "Home already?"

Giles smiled. "You, uh, slept for most of the trip."

She yawned again. "I feel like I could sleep for a year."

"Go on, then." His voice was gentle. "Go inside and get some more rest."

She shook her head. "I can't. I have to see how everyone is, check on Dawn, make sure nothing happened while I was gone..."

"That can wait." He cut her off. "Check on Dawn, certainly, and briefly check in with the others, but if there's no immediate threat of danger...you need to rest, Buffy. The world will survive without you for a few more hours. You have a lot on your mind, and you need to relax yourself and allow your brain time to process it all. It will help, believe me. Never underestimate the restorative properties of some good old fashioned time to yourself."

"I think I vaguely remember hearing about the concept once."

He smiled, that gentle smile that showed more with his eyes than with his lips. "If anyone deserves a break, even for just a few hours, it's you. I know you don't feel you can take the time to slow down right now, but you'll be even less prepared to battle Glory if you're worn down physically and emotionally. You _need_ rest. Consider it an order from your watcher."

She heaved a dramatic sigh and rolled her eyes. "Work, work, work." The smile that played at her lips couldn't quite be hidden as she turned her face away from him.

"And, Buffy?" He placed a hand on her shoulder, waiting for her to look back at him before continuing. "Do try to remember, always, that...that there are people who care for you a-a great deal, and who will always support you in whatever you're going through."

She looked at him for a moment, and then leaned over to wrap her arms around him in a fierce hug. "Thanks, Giles. For everything. Even if the vision quest ended up being more confusing than helpful, the trip wasn't wasted."

"I'm glad," he whispered as he gently returned the embrace.

"I'd better go before I fall asleep on you again," she mumbled sheepishly and began to pull away. He stopped her from leaving the car with a gentle grip on her wrist. She looked at his hand and then met his eyes, questioning.

"Don't be embarrassed, Buffy." His voice was barely more than a whisper. He released her wrist and smiled, looking a little embarrassed himself despite his insistance that she not be. "If...if it makes you feel better, I was...touched that you felt that, uh, safe. To-to fall asleep."

"I always feel safe with you." Buffy spoke firmly, meeting his eyes to be certain that he could see her sincerity. "Always."

Giles looked down, a smile twitching at his lips in the way it did when she knew he was overcome with emotion but trying to appear calm.

He composed himself and raised his eyes back to hers, not caring if she noticed that they were a little watery. "Go on." He nodded toward the house. "Go and get some rest."

She slid out of the car and shut the door behind her, then turned to look at him again. "Giles? You need to rest, too. You got less sleep than I did last night, and you need more of it than I do. Take a nap, make some tea, read a book, do whatever it is you do to relax, but take it easy today, okay?"

He smiled at her concern. "I will." It was a lie, but she didn't need to know that he had no intention of doing anything other than unpacking the car and starting research into the vision she'd received.

With a nod, Buffy stepped away from the car and waved as he started it up and pulled away. She turned toward the house and sighed. Some rest would feel wonderful, and she had been ordered, after all. Her only wish was that this would turn out to be a quiet, uneventful day. With heavy limbs and tired eyes she reached to open the door, and wondered just how poor the odds were that her wish would come true.

THE END


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